I WANDER AROUND THE HOUSE, CARRYING A CUP OF coffee, alone except for Toffee who refuses to let me out of his sight, even scratching at the bathroom door when I have a shower. I have an appointment later, but not until eleven thirty, so I’m rattling around, unable to settle to anything, feeling listless and drained of energy. The spare bedroom is neat and tidy, divested of most, but not all, of Tim and Cora’s belongings, as if they’re telling me not to get too comfortable. In fact, I heard from Cora an hour ago; she sent a text saying that her mother had died in the early hours. They’d be staying for a couple of weeks to have the funeral and deal with everything, but they would be back as soon as possible. I messaged back with my commiserations and urged her to take as long as she needed.
In Lottie’s room, I empty the contents of her rucksack on to the bed and sort out the clothes that need washing from those that just need folding back into her chest of drawers, then I go downstairs to the utility room. My clothes are in the basket. I take each item out and throw it in, checking pockets for stray handkerchiefs or, better still, loose change; and that’s when I find it. The baby wristband. I lay it on my palm and smooth it out. With all that’s been happening, I had forgotten all about it. It has Daughter of WELLS, Anastasia written on it in biro, and the date: 30.07.2001.
Anna had a baby before Kai. That child would be sixteen by now, around the age Anna would have been when she had her. She hasn’t mentioned her, and, apart from this souvenir, I found no clue to her existence in the house. Alex had said Taisie went off the rails, so it could have been some random boy, but I can’t help wondering if Tim is the father. She leaned on him because he was very attractive, he was in control and he made her feel better. He took advantage of an unhappy girl, a girl whose family was reeling from the loss of her sister. He messed Taisie up while his son was steeped in his own personal hell, retreating to his bedroom and locked in depression. What a total and utter bastard.
I find a scrap of paper and write out the months, counting back. The baby would have been conceived in the autumn of 2000, so it fits. The family would still have been living in London then, the restaurant about to open, Tim stressing about investors, trying to keep up a confident front, realizing that this was his last chance of success, feeling vulnerable about middle age, looking for something, or someone, to make him feel young again. Anna would have felt so alone; her parents drowning in grief for Izzy, her brothers too young to be of any help, her friends unable to understand, Nick as good as gone, and anyway she had thoroughly alienated him on that holiday.
Did she come to this part of London to settle old scores? Did she threaten to expose Tim, encouraged by women coming forward in the media with tales of historic rape and assault by seemingly respectable men? Or did she come to find the Ritchies because she hadn’t got either of them out of her system? Whatever the truth, Nick vanished on Saturday, 14 April, forty-eight hours after Anna confronted him. Day Zero.
I pick Toffee up and hug him, pressing my cheek into his soft fur. He twists his head round and licks me.
I smarten myself up for my appointment, take Toffee and let myself out into a blessedly quiet street. One knock-on effect of Anna’s attack is that the press have lost interest in me, a young mother being left for dead on the Common weighing more in the balance than a thirty-four-year-old missing man. That may change of course, when they spot the connection, but for the moment I’m just grateful to be left alone.
I didn’t think I was up to it, but in fact getting away from the area is exactly what I need. I feel a burst of energy as I put the Common behind me and ride towards Chelsea. The house I visit isn’t Rupert’s yet, but he’s interested. He wants to know what I think, whether it has potential.
Rupert is standing outside the property, looking up at the facade with the agent, a pretty blonde woman in a bright pink jacket. I park my bike between a Porsche Cayenne and an Audi, remove my helmet and quickly run my fingers through my hair.
‘You look shattered,’ Rupert tells me, as he kisses my cheek. ‘Are you OK?’
My boss is in his mid-forties, tall and broad, with a florid complexion and sandy hair. I’ve never seen him out of a suit.
‘I’m fine.’ I shake hands with the agent, taking pride in my professionalism. No one would have a clue about the turmoil I’m going through. She walks up the steps, holds open the door and we go in.
‘No word then?’ Rupert murmurs as we inspect the front room.
‘No.’
The house has belonged to the same family for seventy years, and the last resident, a ninety-seven-year-old man, died a month ago. I look up, and take note of the large brown stain, roughly the shape of Australia, and the damaged but beautiful cornicing. The house will be worth a fortune once it’s done up, but it’ll cost a lot to restore and the executors are asking an eye-watering price. I’m not sure it’s worth it.
We spend three-quarters of an hour exploring the house and grilling the agent, then I make my way home. Away from Rupert, and the buzz of a potential new restoration, I start to think about Anna again. The wristband is in my bag. The fact that she had, and presumably gave away, a baby daughter, is heart-breaking. She was so young; several years younger than I was when I got pregnant with Lottie. I find it all too easy to empathize. We were both a mess, both torn about what to do, both with the wrong man. Douglas at least faced up to his responsibilities and fell in love with his daughter. If the baby was Tim’s, then he walked away and lived his life without a second thought.
I slow at the corner to my street, then keep going without turning. I can’t go home now. Instead I ride to the hospital and find my way back to ICU. The nurse on duty tells me that Anna’s parents are with her but that I can poke my head round the door and say hello if I want.
Jess and Sean Wells look up when I walk in. I compose myself and come forward. They both stand. Jess is petite and plump, with dyed brown hair. She wears clothes that fit snugly over her curves, a woollen dress over woollen tights worn with flat brown boots. Sean is wearing a lumberjack-style flannel shirt over blue jeans. He is almost entirely bald.
‘How long have you known our daughter?’ Jess asks after I’ve introduced myself and explained my presence here.
‘Not long. Only since the start of the year.’ I hesitate. ‘I understand you were estranged?’
‘It wasn’t our choice.’
She gazes down at Anna then smiles, and her smile reminds me of Kai.
‘Did you want to talk to her? Sean and I need a break anyway. Why don’t you stay a minute? I’m sure she’d love to hear your voice.’
I look at Anna, at the tubes keeping her alive and the monitors charting her vital signs. ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘If you don’t mind.’
When they’ve left, I sit down and rest my bag on my knee. I open my mouth a couple of times, but nothing comes out. I hadn’t realized how hard it would be to even begin to unblock the lines of communication when someone is in an unresponsive state.
‘Anna,’ I say experimentally. ‘Anna, it’s Grace. I’m so sorry about what happened to you.’ I pause, my mouth bone dry. I open the zipped section in my bag and take out the wristband, put it in her hand and fold her fingers around it.
‘I’m on your side, Anna. I want you to know that whatever has happened to Nick, I understand that you have been through a lot. If you said something to him to make him leave, please tell me. I won’t hold it against you. I know you’ve suffered terribly. I wish you had told me about the baby when you told me about Tim.’
I listen to the sound of her breathing, until its rhythmic pulse begins to make me zone out. She is so still, so defenceless. In that moment I feel nothing but sympathy. I don’t like her, but the things I don’t like about her are the same things I dislike about myself. The lying, the insecurity, the distrust of others. We are not so different, when it comes down to it.
I stand up and hook the strap of my bag over my shoulder. I consider leaving the wristband in her hand, but I don’t do it. It wouldn’t be fair.
On my way out, I pass Sean and Jess. They look at me eagerly, hoping, I imagine, that I will give them some insight into their daughter. I want to give them something so badly, but I can’t think what.
‘Kai is a super little boy,’ I say. ‘You’ll love him. Anna’s done a fantastic job. She’s a wonderful mum.’
It was both the right and the wrong thing to say. Jess starts to cry, and Sean puts his arm around her.
‘Thank you, Grace. That means so much. We’re meeting our grandson tomorrow. We can’t wait.’
I watch as they walk back along the corridor. I feel so lonely I could cry.
I haven’t been in my house for five minutes before the doorbell rings. As usual my heart does a flip. As usual I force myself to control my expectations, to quash the spark of hope. It won’t be Nick. It’s probably Mrs Jeffers wanting me to change a light bulb for her, or something like that. Even my fretful neighbour’s company would be welcome right now. I see the two shadowy figures through the opaque panes and my heart drops to my stomach. Toffee barks, and I grab him before opening the door. He raises his front paws, straining at his collar, when he sees the two police officers.
‘Grace Trelawney,’ the WPC says. At her tone, flat and heavy, I step back instinctively. Toffee growls. ‘I have a warrant to search the premises.’